The Wounds They Forgot
by TigerKei
Summary: Wheatley has been released from Aperture and works in a library in a town called CottonFall. He never found Chell. Unfortunately, he has become very reclusive and depressed. Chell is looking for a place to settle down and fell in love with a house. With a neighbor named Wheatley. Chell must save him from himself, so the wounds they forgot can finally heal
1. Scars

He had been let go. He had gotten away just like the lady had. He was free.

The ground, he remembered, had been cold, strange, unknown, but he had been so happy to see it. Dirt, soft, musty, brown. It was amazing to him. He looked to the sky, the vast endless blue that was draped over the land, and began to cry. The surface...was beautiful.

Wheatley looked back on the memory fondly, it had been mere months but seemed like an eternity ago. He had been traumatized so badly by GLaDOS that every sound made him jump. He had been afraid to sleep. A rabbit running in the wheat had been enough to send Wheatley on a frenzied gallop, terrified for his life. The echoes of past pain caused him to fear. He was very afraid. Always.

Wheatley had found a town after two days of wandering, well they found him, he had been thirsty, emaciated, and exhausted. The town people had taken him in, fed him, set him up with a house and a job. A job he was good at. It made him monumentally happy to know he was good at something. He was a librarian, the town had been desperate for someone to fill the job, but none of the people were into books. A town of workers, Wheatley was a black sheep. The black sheep they needed.

After reading books upside down a few hundred times, he finally figured out how to read them. Turns out books had a lot to offer.

Wheatley had looked for the lady for a month. He drew many pictures of her, all based on his memories of her. Sometimes, when he had time, he'd sit and think about her. He missed her. But as time went on he realized that he'd never see her again. He lost all hope.

Depression's nasty claws grasped Wheatley firmly, dragging him into an abyss of self-loathing, fear, and regret. Regret that consumed him like wildfire, opening his wounds and making them sting.

The townsfolk thought he always had been like that, quiet, brooding, depressed. Wheatley wasn't who he used to be. He'd never be who he used to be. He was ruled by the emotions he had been gifted. Less like a gift, more like a curse. He had no friends, his life was simple and simply boring at that.

Everything reminded him of his prior pain. A word. A sound. A smell. Each was like a bullet in his heart, each an exploding fragment, a memory of her, or of his abuse, or of his greatest regrets. His mind would be reeled in, latching onto that hurtful thought like a fish to lure, and then... He'd panic.

Panic attacks were common. Everyone knew that he had them. But because he didn't ask for help, he was given none. Along with panic attacks, he suffered from extreme social anxiety, night terrors, paranoia, and likely PTSD. Because of this, he didn't come out much.

Wheatley was only seen going from home to work to home to work.

Wheatley remembered the golden grass that had lapped against the sides of him for days. The clouds that hung in the sky like cotton that had decided not to obey the laws of gravity.

He remembered those very same clouds opening up and letting loose a maelstrom of wind and water as the yellow grass bowed before it in a respect Wheatley hadn't understood. He had done it too, to learn their perspective and found that it felt so peaceful. He had given up then and smiled, he had laid down on the ground and waited for death to overtake him. He felt a soft hand on his cheek and yelling voices.

Wheatley cleared his mind of the memory. He navigated the massive library like a maze of books, quick, Surprisingly efficient, and quietly. He was very tall, with deep sky blue eyes. His hair looked like he had put his ginger hair in the wash with bleach. It was a slightly pastel pink-blonde color. Rose gold.

He tied his hair in a long braid with two bows. One at the base of the braid, and the other at the end holding it together. He didn't understand why men never wore them, he felt classy with them.

He wore a pair of circular glasses that he felt made him look smart, as well aided his poor vision. He was very near sighted. He also donned a pink sweater that one of the elderly ladies had knitted him when they came into the library. He loved that sweater. It made him feel loved. Love. Wheatley didn't get it. He heard everyone else use it so he did, but did he actually know it? He pushed people away out of fear and heartbreak, and in turn felt colder, colder.

Wheatley rounded a corner, ruffling a few magazines on a table at the end of the shelf. He stopped abruptly, his arm shooting out and hooking a book. He placed it under arm, before padding off back to his desk. The library was on the corner of two shopping streets, two blocks down from the florist's, and a mile from his home. It was nice, built of dark oaky wood, with wisteria growing outside. It looked friendly.

At the desk, a farm girl waited, Rosalie. She was roughly 16 but asking a woman her age (Wheatley had learned from books) was rude. He didn't understand WHY, but it certainly must have been important. He didn't want anybody to be mad at him.

He handed her the book silently, scanned her card and gave a weak wave. There was no mistaking the look of hopelessness in his eyes.

He had thought of the lady earlier. He always was especially down when he thought of her. He looked afright. Hair ruffled, dark circles under his eyes, pale, droopy eyelids, his bows were all crooked. He was a mess.

Rosalie, with her green eyes and red hair, looked like an angel, not a hair out of place. His polar opposite. She furrowed her brow. "...eh, wheats-" she began, leaning casually on the counter. "Wheatley." He corrected.

"Er - yeah- Wheatley, my -uh- family is having a get-together. A little party. Wanted to know if you wanted to come?" She smiled nervously.

"No thanks." He said in a flat voice. He sat down behind his desk and pulled out a book. He opened it and began to read. He didn't want to seem RUDE, but, it was far too frightening for him to even think about going out. He repeated his schedule every day strictly.

"-B-but Wheatley, it could be good for ya! Meet new people, make new friends, maybe you'd even find yourself a girlfrie-"

Wheatley sharply looked up. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. "I said no."

Emotions were hard for him to control. If he was upset, then you'd know.

Rosalie sighed. Wheatley was sensitive. Far too sensitive. She guessed something had happened to him before he came to CottonFall. Something had to have broken him like this. Nobody was just like this without cause. But what or who caused it? She shook her head, focusing.

There had to be a way to get him to come. Rosalie wasn't the type to give up. Especially on people she felt needed somebody to confide in. Poor Wheatley definitely needed somebody. Anybody. Giving up wasn't an option anyway, she was far too determined to give up.

That was one of the reasons why Wheatley stayed away from her. Simply because she reminded him of the lady. Too many bad memories fogged up his mind and he couldn't stand to be near her for too long. Not much had changed since he had betrayed the lady. He was still a moron. The lady was still gone. He was still a monster. SHE was still right about everything.

There wasn't a way out for him... Well, except for eating. Wheatley comfort ate sometimes, finding the flavors distracted him from his misery. A full stomach seemed to make up for an empty heart.

Now Wheatley wasn't by any means fat, but he certainly did have a bit of a belly on him. Even in his big sweater, it wasn't hard to tell that he'd been eating a bit too much for his own good. Nobody mentioned his weight to him but he knew they were thinking it. "Look how fat he is", "How repulsive," "MORON." Those thoughts echoed in his thoughts like a pack of angry dogs snarling their cruel words into weapons and piercing his gentle heart.

Nobody thought that though. Nobody really cared or noticed but Wheatley was convinced. This was what he had become. A monster. An ugly, unlovable, fat, moronic monster. It hurt.

Wheatley returned to his book, trying to shut off the outside world when Rosalie got an idea. She tapped his book. He growled. "What is it? I've just gotten into this book and I tell you I want to finish it before I leave!" He said in an upset tone. It wasn't quite angry, but it certainly wasn't a happy tone.

Rosalie planted her hands on her hips. "You're comin' to the party. It's at 7, an hour after you get off. It's at the farmhouse. Brush your hair, get something nice on and make sure you get there on time." She commanded.

"What? I just said I'm not going!"

"I just said you are." A fire erupted in her eyes, just like that determination in the lady's eyes. It scared Wheatley. It really did.

"B-but I have t-to organize m-my books- people never put them back in the same place and-" Wheatley stuttered. He was afraid, Rosalie's face seeming to shift into the lady's. Her jumpsuit, her bloodied cuts, and bruises, the portal gun fastened to her arm like a part of her. He shook his head and the hallucination was gone. "- And- and besides, I've got to get to bed early! I 'ave work!"

Rosalie smirked. She knew his weakness. "There'll be food."

Wheatley's eyes widened. His mind raced with thoughts of food. 'Maybe I could spend a little while there? What kind of foods does Rosalie's family even cook? How does it taste? Maybe I possibly could get a recipe? I mean, I've already cooked everything in the library cookbooks. It would certainly be a change of pace- Wait hold on! ' He snapped himself out of it rather quickly. He set down his book and folded his arms. He gave her an annoyed look. "Don't think I don't see what you're doing, Rosie." He pointed a finger at her accusingly. " I MAY like food, but I DON'T like people! Is that complicated? No! Not at all!"

"Oh come on! You never go anywhere!" She pouted.

"That's not true! I go home! I come here!" he motioned with his arms, trying to accent his emotion, a habit he had kept through his transfer from Personality construct to human. He'd always had to move then, and now was just the same.

"Exactly!" She nearly yelled. "You basically live here. You don't have friends. You don't get enough sun, you are so pale you look like a vampire! Plus, You're always so sad and nobody knows why! " Rosalie cared for Wheatley's well-being.

Everyone did, to be honest.

Wheatley was a sweetheart, he'd always been friendly, even to those who had been rude to him, namely the teenagers. Wheatley looked to be in his middle twenties, roughly around 25. A lot of people felt bad for him mostly because nobody knew his birthday, and consequently, didn't know when to give him a birthday present.

Wheatley became quiet. He looked downward. "If I go you'll leave me alone?"

"Wheatley- You need to-"

"I SAID If I go will you leave me alone?" He looked up at her. His eyes were pleading. Rosalie knew he was silently begging her not to make him hurt. What she wondered is how a social gathering would hurt him.

Rosalie clenched her teeth together, as well as her fist. She was getting annoyed. She drew in a deep breath and released it. Her shoulders fell.

"Fine."

She turned around and walked to the door. "-And Wheatley?"

"Yes?"

"Try to smile." With that, she left.

Wheatley slumped onto the counter and sighed. He didn't want to go be around people. He wanted to go home and read a book, make some dinner, then sleep. He wanted to forget all his worries, not be put in a situation where his worries manifested themselves in front of him.

Wheatley had many fears. He was afraid of the dark. He was afraid of the sounds he heard at night. He was afraid of storms. He was afraid of his nightmares. He was afraid of himself, afraid of people who would realize he is a moron and would hate him. He was afraid he'd die alone. He was afraid that people would find out what he had done and hate him. Or kill him. He'd rather them kill him than hate him. He was so afraid that he didn't let anything make him happy.

He felt tears well up in his eyes.

"Oh no, not again." He said, wiping his tears away. "Don't cry. Don't cry." He put his palms to his eyes. But he felt so helpless. He, at last, gave in, put his sign that said 'on break' on his desk and ran to the bathroom.

He crouched in the last stall and began to cry. Bawling like a baby crying for its mother, He truly couldn't help it. "I don't wanna go!" He said between sobs. He felt so weak. Like a child. "Why- can't she just leave me be? I'm not ready for people- and I don't think people are ready for me!" He hiccuped. He shook himself out of his tearful pity party. "Pull yourself together mate, you've got a job to do. " He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away his tears. He wiped his glasses as well.

" W-what if somebody needs book, eh? Then what! You'd be responsible for somebody missing out on a good book!" He breathed in and out deeply to calm himself down and walked out of the restroom. He tried to keep a stoic expression, like a big strong man.

Wheatley was tall and gangly, and despite the weight he had gained from his appetite and his depression, he had no muscle on his body. He was weak, overweight, and he was absolutely sure he wasn't attractive. The opposite of a strong man.

It would be just like Glados to put him in what normal humans would call the most unattractive body on the planet. Wheatley couldn't tell what attractive and unattractive was. To him every lady was pretty and all men looked ok. He didn't judge anyone on their appearance. He finally had learned not to be a complete jerk. Through pain and GLaDos's sense of humor degrading him. He, the dumbest moron who ever lived, had learned not to put himself first. Not to be a heartless bastard, to care about other's feelings.

Through pain, he realized, he became a better person. But that still didn't stop his heart from breaking at the remembrance of the pain he caused. He would sob for hours sometimes. Crying until he had no more energy, or till he fell asleep.

Wheatley had many breakdowns. Something would trigger him and off he'd go, to hide away and cry. Like a slapped dog, off he'd crawl to lick his wounds. Thankfully, nobody knew he was crying. He was quite sure if they knew they'd all laugh at him and tease him. Just like Aperture.

He remembered, in the days of old, that he used to be especially clumsy when people talked to him. He basically had the robot equivalent of ADHD and couldn't stay on task. Once people figured out they could distract him and make him lose sight of what was important that's just what they did.

They treated him like he was stupid. Like he was a useless piece of hardware. His processor worked perfectly fine, he assured them. His computing abilities were uncompared he had said. They replied with a cruel laugh and said, "Yeah, uncompared all right, nobody is as dumb as you!"

They laughed at him. He was lesser. Wheatley hated them for that. But a deep part of him felt like it was his fault. He had given them a reason to hurt him, right? Everything was his fault. All his fault.

Wheatley sat behind his desk again to pass the hours. He picked up his book and got lost in reading. Reading made him feel alive and more than anything happy. He never understood Machiavelli but he did enjoy "Little House on the Prairie", "Where the Red fern grows", and though he cried after reading some of them he found himself reading another, and another. His reading habits were similar to his eating habits. One just wasn't enough.

Sometimes Wheatley couldn't get through a book if it was too violent. As a robot, blood never spooked him. He saw it commonly in that hell known as Aperture. But as a human? He knew pretty damn well that the red stuff belongs on the inside of people.

Just the thought of blood was enough to fill him with dread, while the sight made him faint. Unfortunately, the townspeople had tried setting him up as a nurse before he was a librarian. He had reminded them he had no experience medically but the town leader, Mayamintes, who's gender was hard to determine, insisted he at least try. A scratch on a boy's leg was what triggered him. He had fainted on the spot.

Mayamintes then proceeded to try to fill him in many other positions, he had tried to be a mechanic, a pot maker, and even a hunter, all to no avail. Wheatley winced remembering the whole fiasco with him trying to shoot a deer. He hadn't had the heart to even hit it.

Wheatley leaned back in his chair, the seat creaking in protest. He relaxed as much as possible, people felt happier to approach someone who was relaxed versus somebody who they knew could be set off with a subtle tone change. He'd learned that in a book. But sometimes your tone could really upset him.

If he even thought you were angry with him he may cry. Sensitive was an understatement. Wheatley had always been a little 'sensitive' but after three years in space, 8 months in Aperture with GLaDOS slowly grating against his psyche and positive self-image, he was a little less than a train wreck. Chell had only spent a measly 4 hours testing with GLaDOS the first time, the second 2 hours, but Wheatley's eight months was the longest anyone had ever survived. And that was only because anytime Wheatley died GLaDOS would transfer his consciousness to a clone.

Wheatley was startled out of his book by the clock. 6:00. Wheatley frowned. He had an hour.


	2. Rose Petals

Wheatley walked home. The street was quiet and foreboding. For once, the streets were silent. This unnerved Wheatley but he didn't complain. It wasn't his business.

He had finally broken his habit of babbling whenever he was nervous. He was proud of this, but he supposed the ADHD pills were helping too. Nobody would think he was a moron if he didn't blabber.

He looked at the flowers in the florist's store as he passed. He liked the florist, she was very wise, very peculiar, and very crazy. Her idea of fun was chasing things that could rip her to shreds. She used to be the town hunter and before that the town leader. She had relinquished leadership of CottonFall to Mayamintes at the age of 67. Wheatley had no idea how old the florist was but she certainly was old. She had been the first to welcome him to town, had nursed him back to health, all in all she was a dear friend. She was a mysterious old lady, who's name nobody knew. A friendly mystery.

Her big genetically modified Venus flytrap seemed to follow him as he passed. It drooled a bit, making Wheatley feel uneasy. That thing could and probably would eat him in two bites. Maybe less.

He glanced down at its name. "Audrey II. I wonder who Audrey is..." he mumbled.

He waved into the window though he doubted she could see him. He continued on his way. Towards the end of the main road was his home. It was a nice 3 bedroom, 2 bath house. The kitchen was roomy and he even had a dining room.

Wheatley had filled his home with things that made him happy in an effort to make himself less lonely, but that had only made him feel lonlier. He had gotten a pet, a little crab that the fishers brought back from the lake, but he was still lonely.

He walked up the steps to his home, barely noticing the 'unoccupied' sign was gone from the neighboring house. He unlocked his front door and strode in, sighing as he entered. He loved his home. He loved his job. He didn't understand why he wasn't happy though.

He sighed once again, remembering he had to go get ready for the party. He hoped the florist was there. She was one of the only ones who knew how to play a piano, perhaps she'd play the grand piano Rosalie's family owned.

He passed his couch and set his bag down on his coffee table. He yawned tiredly and mumbled something frustratedly under his breath.

Wheatley went into his room, caught sight of his crab, and realized he hadn't fed it. He rushed back into the kitchen and got some small cut fish and put them in the crab's tank. Wheatley got off task often, even with the pills it was extremely hard to focus.

"Sorry there Ol' redder. I keep forgetting, I ought to write myself a note." He had named the crab 'ol redder' because he fancied the pun. He hadn't made it far into old yeller though.

Wheatley returned to his task, he had to look nice. He went into his dresser, found some semi-nice clothes, and went to bathe.

Fifteen minutes later Wheatley stood in front of his full body mirror looking himself over. He scrutinized every part of himself, and certainly was not happy with what he saw.

His shirt did nothing to hide his stomach, and his jacket was wrinkled, his bow tie was a clip on because he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to tie a real bow tie. He thought he looked like one of those rednecks who didn't care about their appearance.

"I look a mite ridiculous, don't I?" He frowned.

"...Can't believe I was kind of hoping that I'd look like a real gentleman. . ." He sighed. "Geuss no matter what I do, I'll always play the part of the fool." He felt tears well up in his eyes. He once again took out his hankercheif and dabbed his eyes. "Crybaby. I cry far too much. I'm just a failure at everything I suppose, can't even stay happy." He thought to himself.

He felt so weak. So pitiful. He wanted somebody to hold him and tell him everything was ok. Like a mother. Or a friend. Wheatley had been hugged only once, by the florist. It was his happiest memory.

Wheatley straightened the tie, and once again ran a comb through his oddly colored hair. He sighed. He stepped away from the mirror and sat on the side of his bed, fiddling with the spires on the comb. He pulled them and relished in the little metallic ping that resounded in response. Wheatley set down the comb on his nightstand next to his lamp, and smoothed the sheets where he had been sitting.

He glanced over at his crab's tank. The crab was busily eating the fish Wheatley had fed him, while it's eyes seemed to be locked on Wheatley's. Wheatley sighed once more, albiet louder and more pitiful.

"I'm just not ready for this." The words that circled in his head in a violent marathon over and over finally were said aloud.

"I'm still getting used to the surface- I just can't do it- There'll be too many people there-" he played with his hands, "a-and I bet that I'll say something uncalled for! Or what if I'm told a secret? Oh I didn't think of that-" he began his old habit of rambling to himself once more. "- what if I tell the secret? What if I ruin their life? I already killed the lady." Wheatley got sick at the mention of her. He began pacing.

"Why do I do this to myself?" He buried his head in his hands and slumped onto his bed.

He sat up straight suddenly. "I'm going to tell her I'm not ready. I can't do this yet. I'm not ready." He repeated 'I'm not ready' under his breath as he stood and walked to the landline.

He asked the operator, Martha, to patch him over to Rosalie. Martha did so with a cheery disposition, not many people used phones anymore.

"Hmmph-hello?" The gruff and gravelly voice of Rosalie's father came through. He was obviously a heavy smoker. "Who's this?"

"It's Wheatley. The- the librarian." Wheatley said, trying to sound not terrified (even though he was.) The men in town thought he was weird, he remembered overhearing somebody as he passed ask a friend if Wheatley was 'queer'. Wheatley hadn't learned to control his jaws at that point and had promptly asked them what queer meant. The young man had turned red with embarrassment, apologized, and explain queer usually meant homosexual. Wheatley didn't know what was so bad about being homosexual but he didn't want anybody making fun of him for it.

Rosalie's father made a sound of approval. "State your business, partner."

Wheatley gulped. "I'm calling for your daughter Rosalie-"

"You're not some boyfriend are you?" His voice became dangerous.

"N-no sir. I've never had a date with anyone before, let alone a girlfriend. I-i personally don't think I'm good enough for your daughter anyways-I'm a bit of a coward..." Wheatley nervously chuckled.

"Mmm." He could hear more approval. Why would he approve of that? That man had issues.

"Alright there, Wheatie-"

"It's Wheatley! " He said in a tone he thought was friendly, his face angrily scowling. Could this guy be any more thick?

"-...Wheatley. I'll let her talk."

He heard him yell for Rosalie to answer the phone.

He heard Rosalie groan in absolute annoyance. Then she asked who it was.

"It's the librarian,Wheedle or something-"

Wheatley's expression soured. "...Wheatley..." he mumbled into the receiver.

He heard the click of the second landline being picked up. "Wheatley! It's a pleasure to hear ya!" Rosalie sounded excited.

"Rosie..."Wheatley began, "I don't think I'm ready for this." He made sure to get to the point quickly, lest he lose sight of what was important again.

"What!? Oh come on!" Rosalie groaned. "Just this once? I swear you'll like it!"

Wheatley could hear the inner child in her. He felt bad for turning her down, but he knew he had to the stand by his decision. His head knew better than his heart.

"Look, I just- i'm just not ready!"

"You keep saying that!"

"-i- I know, but look, I'm no social butterfly, and if I know me it won't end well, just- I really would love to come but it's just too hard for me..."

Wheatley tried to explain, fumbling over his words.

"How is it hard? Why don't you JUST TRY?" There was an agressive undertow in her voice.

Wheatley felt his heart beat quicken. He gulped. "Because I'm scared to- ok? Why do you care so much anyway?"

Rosalie was silent. That wasn't good. She sighed on her end. "Whisp has been having dreams about you. He painted some weird stuff and it featured you, some eyeball thing, a woman, and some one eyed Hal 9000 looking thing."

Wheatley paled. Whisper. The 18 year old Autistic. The town oracle. Whisper 's dreams were known to tell the future, secrets, and potential problems. He was Rosalie's big brother.

"He painted the words 'Open wounds' under you and 'forgotten wounds' under the woman." She became very stressed. " He crossed out your eyes and the eyeball thing. I didn't know what that meant but then he said, 'His wounds won't heal until contact is made. She forgot, Exile. He hurts, Vilify.' What does that even mean?"

Wheatley had heard the phrase Exile Vilify before. It had been painted on the walls in Aperture, and thus so, had been painted in his mind eternally, repeating itself within his nightmares.

Wheatley shook. He was terrified. What did any of that mean? He could barely hold onto the phone, he shook so hard. He sat down on the couch, gripping the seat until his knuckles turned white.

"W-w-what does th-this mean th-then?" He tried to slow his erratic breathing.

"I think it means you need to talk to people. We all know something happened to you before you came here, and now Whisp sees it too!" She paused for a moment. "Please Wheatley. Please. I'll make sure nobody messes with you, I swear. On my past." Swearing on your past was like swearing on your firstborn child. So Wheatley knew she meant it. This meant a lot to her.

Wheatley thought about it for a moment. His shaky hands gripped the phone like a vice, he couldn't, he shouldn't. "O-ok." He breathed into the reciever. "I'll go. But... please... don't make me talk to anyone." Damn it! Why was he such a pushover?

Rosalie wanted him to talk to people, that was the whole point. But she knew she was barely getting him there in the first place. Rosalie was getting even more annoyed. Wheatley needed friends. Why was he so afraid anyway? What made him fear people so much? Rosalie sat silent for a moment. "Ok. Get over here though, or you'll be late. Got it?"

Wheatley nodded though she couldn't see him. He realized his mistake and replied. "Oh-uh- yes! Ok! On my way right now!"

"Good. See you soon."

Wheatley set the phone down, wearing an expression that said: "What have I got myself into?"


	3. The Party

Wheatley knocked on the barn door, the music blasting. It was peculiar music, sounding like swing and dustep had a child. Wheatley found himself enjoying the sound of it. Mechanical yet still ALIVE, like him in a sense, emotional in the way only machines can be.

Rosalie answered and her eyes softened. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

Wheatley forced a smile. "You were right I definitely needed to get out." He did like the sound of the music though. "I love this music."

Rosalie brightened. She wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're making an effort. It means so much to me."

Though Wheatley was terrified and not exactly pleased to be there hearing that definitely made him feel a bit more comfortable. He wasn't doing this for himself, he was doing it for a friend. The music was drawing him in like a magnet. So when Rosalie took his hand he followed without a second glance.

When Wheatley got inside he realized two things. One, there were only teens and young adults. The ages ranged from 15 to early 20 year olds. Two, he was the oldest person there, and unfortunately the tallest.

What felt like an hundred eyes turned when he walked in. He felt like he was about to faint. His hands became clammy as he gripped a bit harder to Rosalie's hand.

She didn't seem to notice as she brought him to a group of kids in their late teens. Wheatley recognized a few of them. Whisp was there, staring blankly at him. Another one of them had teased him for a while. Wheatley narrowed his eyes menacingly at the boy, who backed away slowly.

"Hey guys! You'll never geuss what I just dragged in!"

Wheatley felt the urge to to correct her. Technically he had walked in. But he knew it was better left alone.

One kid took off her(...or his... he couldn't tell their gender) glasses, and grinned widely. "Yo! It's the librarian! Thought you were a real bird!"

Wheatley gave a confused look. "Ah...bird?"

The kid jumped up and down giving peace signs. "Yeah dude! You step near a bird and they fly away all scared! "

Wheatley nodded. Modern lingo was so strange. "Yeah... Rosie here got me out of the house... I definitely needed it." He said, trying to make small talk.

"Yeah Maestro! Play a new song!"

Rosalie beamed. She had gotten Wheatley out of his shell.

"Wheatley, this is Lemon, and you know Whisper. "

Who names their kid after a fruit?

Wheatley waved nervously to Whisp, who wasn't responsive. Did Whisp not like him?

"Wanna dance, Glasses?" Lemon asked.

Wheatley gave a pitiful look to Rosalie, who urged him on. Lemon grabbed his hand and pulled him to the middle of the makeshift dance floor. An actual disco ball hung from the ceiling, a relic from a place time forgot.

Wheatley had no idea how to dance. Sure, he had read books on dancing, but that was far different from DOING it. Wheatley felt scared. This was new, usually new meant bad.

Wheatley calmed himself and allowed lemon to lead. Wheatley found himself repeating their movements. The music was bouncy, thus they danced widly.

Wheatley caught sight of a girl who did a back flip. Oh, he was definitely NOT doing that. He tried to pinpoint what style this was.

After a few moments he realized it was a heavily amped up version of swing dancing. How had he been so dumb? Of course. He remembered noticing that the music was swing earlier. Wheatley broke off from his repeated movements and started making his own.

He let the world melt away, and moved to the beat. He lost himself in this new world. He gripped Lemon's hand and pulled them into his new dance. Colors and movement became a blur of emotion and exhilaration.

He spun them, and in a movement so quick, he then did a split. A sign of intense discipline and practice, though he had never practiced a day in his life.

When the song ended all eyes were on him. Wheatley returned to reality and realized everyone was looking at him. He gripped his arm nervously. He did something wrong. This was his fault. He did this. He ruined everything. Why hadn't he just kept quiet? What had he done?

"YOOOOOO!!!! DUDE THAT WAS SIIIIICK!" Lemon yelled, their voice sounding hyper.

The entire room erupted into cheers. The rambunctious teens jumped up and down cheering raucously.

Rosalie ran up and hugged him. "See? I told you didn't i? You needed this!" She was happy.

Wheatley simply nodded, his mind too preoccupied to focus. Too much was going on, too much to follow.

Within a few minutes the teens had surrounded him and were giving him compliments. Wheatley's self confidence was in heaven but his anxiety was burning somewhere deep in android hell.

"Yo dude! Didn't know you could shake like that!" One boy said.

"Yeah you totally were killer!" Said another.

Wheatley gave a friendly smile to them. Just like the library. Except far far more terrifying.

"Oh, I'm not all that good, you are giving me too much credit. Seriously." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"No way man! You deserve this! You gotta tell us who taught you! "

"Yeah! Tell dude! "

"Well, actually. .." he paused, "I wasn't taught by anyone. .. I read books on dancing."

The crowd became silent. The silence made Wheatley uneasy. He didn't like silence. Silence was why he used to ramble. Anything to fill the silence. Wheatley felt his hands become clammy again.

"No way! Dude, you are freaking talented!" one of the teens yelled.

Wheatley sighed. People were too confusing. He honestly couldn't tell what any of them were thinking.

Rosalie grabbed his arm. "Come on, we got hurricanes." Rosalie had a devilish smirk.

"H-hurricanes? This far inland? That's awful!" He had read about hurricane Katrina hitting New Orleans. That had been awful, imagine how powerful it would have to be to come this far in.

Rosalie laughed. "You're killing me man, I mean the DRINK." Wheatley caught the emphasis she put on 'drink'.

Wheatley hadn't ever had alcohol. Ever. He wasn't quite sure he wanted it now either. Sure he'd been offered alcahol a few times but he had always declined.

"... A-alcohol? Are you absolutely daft? You're all underage! " Wheatley didn't want to be part of anything else bad.

"But YOU'RE not."

That was true. He WAS an adult, but he didn't feel he was responsible enough to drink. If he still slept with a stuffed animal, how could he be mature enough to consume alcohol?

"I'm sorry, Rosie. It's not your fault but- between you and me-" he leaned in to her ear. "I'm not responsible. I could do something really dumb." He stood up again. "I just don't want to be part of anything bad, you see?"

Rosalie chuckled. "Just this once? You need to let go for once, you square." She playfully punched his arm.

Wheatley knew there wasn't any arguing at this point. She'd keep dodging his requests. He sighed.

"Only one. Understand? " His eyes spoke authority. He was serious. But nobody respected Wheatley to begin with, who cared if he was serious or not?

'Great idea! A limit, she gets her way and I get mine! Why, it's good on both ends!' Wheatley thought happily, thinking he'd won.

Rosalie pulled him to the long table situated across the dance floor, near the wall. A rough looking girl that was built like a tank sat behind the makeshift bar, polishing a shot glass. The 'bar' was dotted with underage drinkers. Wheatley felt uneasy.

"Ey Rosie. What can I do you for?"

The girl had whiskey on her breath and a new York accent.

"Nothing for me, Marabelle, but for the house beanpole..." she jabbed a thumb at Wheatley, whom only blinked confusedly.

Marabelle looked Wheatley up and down. "Think he can take a Hurricane? Or should I just give him a watered down Mimosa?" Marabelle asked Rosalie.

"He can take a hurricane." Rosie shot him a wink. Wheatley gulped. He had a feeling this wasn't going to end well.

Marabelle gave him a big cup with the words 'Hurricane Pat o' briens, New Orleans' on it. The cup was filled with a red liquid. He had heard of New Orleans, in the hurricane book. He wondered if it was still there.

Wheatley shakily took the glass and gave a pleading look to Rosalie. She urged him on with a wide grin.

He sighed. "Well... bottoms up I geuss..."

He took a sip and instantly fell in love. Sweet and tangy, overly addictive. He wanted more. He tipped the glass back and chugged.

"Slow down man! You don't want to puke do you dude?" Rosie said, pulling the now half empty glass from his hands.

Wheatley gave a dopey grin. "You were right, Rosie. I DID need to let go." Wheatley's smile grew wider.

Rosalie relaxed. She handed him the drink back. Wheatley took it and chugged it. He hiccuped and turned to Rosalie.

"You got anymore of that?"

"Oh hell yeah!" Rosalie grinned.

Marabelle slid him another. With that second hurricane everything went to hell. Wheatley's anxiety was gone. As well as the filter on his mouth. Old Wheatley was back, blabbering, stupid, irresponsible Wheatley.

Wheatley drunkenly gravitated into the crowd, with a buzzed Rosalie in tow. The crowd enjoyed Wheatley's enthusiasm and idiocy. It was funny. Wheatley was funny. He was entertainment. Time began to blur, and Wheatley lost track of how many drinks he had.

"Yeahhh, and I never even cared about that bloke, I tell you, he wouldn't ever shut up about bleeding space! He sure had lot of it in his processor if you ask me." Wheatley was in a big group of teens chatting.

Nobody had any idea what the hell he was talking about but it was funny as hell. One second he'd be talking about the fact that nobody liked that one jerk and then he'd start talking about Aperture.

Wheatley continued making stupid comments, doing stupid things, and making people realize he was an idiot. Not just a regular idiot. A moron. The dumbest moron to ever live.

At one point he even tripped over a bundle of cords that powered the lights and music. Everyone laughed, but he had laughed too, unaware that they'd been laughing at him.

By the end of the night Wheatley had downed so much alcohol that his shirt had ridden up exposing a sliver of his pale skin. He couldn't think. He could barely walk. He hadn't realized how big of a fool he'd made himself.

Rosie waved him off. "Bye Wheatley! Stay safe!"

Wheatley drunkenly waved goodbye.

" -hic!- toodles Rosy!"

Rosalie chuckled.

"Go home you dummy."

She pushed him away from the door, hugging him. "Don't get sick."

"I'll be fine-!" He slurred.

Wheatley turned heel, and made his way down the dirt path. Wheatley began rubbing his stomach, a slight rumbling hum deep in his throat beginning to start.

He had a big dopey grin. "Why was I so -Hic!- worried...? Bloody hell, alcohol is amazing!" He stifled a burp. "Why, I'm feeling giddy!"

He laughed goofily.

He stumbled, catching himself on the white fence surrounding the family's property. "Wooahh...-ic!- I nearly fell! That would've been pretty damn bad, wouldn't it! Bloody hell..."

He ran his hand through his hair, hiccuping again. "Blimey, I'm kind've dizzy, aren't I?"

He blinked a few times, then he steadied himself and started back on his way. His stomach was so full. He sighed, still rubbing at the flesh. He felt kind of sick.

Wheatley stumbled home, raided his fridgerator, and with an overfull stomach, promptly fell asleep.


	4. The Hangover

Wheatley awoke and instantly wished he was dead. He had a pounding headache. His stomach churned. He felt like he was dying. Wheatley stumbled to the bathroom and vomited. Everything was spinning. Everything hurt. He wanted it to end. The lights hurt. The water running was too loud.

He weakly grabbed the trashcan and crawled back to bed. He grabbed the phone on the nightstand and asked the operator for Mayamintes.

"Who the hell is this?" Mayamintes sounded gruff. "It's 4 am, this better be important. "

Wheatley was crying a little. "Maya- Mayamintes I - I can't come to work. I can't make it. I can't-" Wheatley panted into the receiver.

"Wheatley? You ok?" Their tone changed from pissed to worried.

"I th-think I'm dying."

Mayamintes sighed. "You're Alright. Stay home. Get some rest. But this better not be to avoid going to the welcoming meeting tonight."

"Welcoming meeting?" Wheatley asked.

"Yeah! Remember last night? How I told you about the woman who is moving here? You met her! You were acting funny, you complimented her shirt? She's moving in next to you! You don't remember at all?"

Wheatley gave a weak "Uh-uh."

Mayamintes sighed again. "Just go to sleep buddy. Stay hydrated and eat something, will ya? Goodnight Wheatley. Get well soon."

With that Mayamintes hung up. Wheatley set the phone down. He grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself and shuffled to the kitchen. He needed a drink. He grabbed the pitcher of kool-aid and got a big cup. He didn't want to make multiple trips.

He warmed up some chicken noodle soup and went into his room and turned on the TV. He spent the rest of his day sleeping and watching cartoons. He muted the TV and watched with subtitles because everything seemed too loud. Frankly, that was the best for him. At 6:00 he got tired and went to sleep for the night.


	5. The Lady

Wheatley awoke the next morning feeling much better. Wheatley got up, took a shower, brushed his teeth, and rebraided his hair.

While getting dressed his stomach growled rather loudly. He looked down and sighed. "Geuss that means I'm ready for breakfast."

He went into the kitchen and made a large breakfast for himself. Wheatley just couldn't get enough bacon, so he ended up cooking the entire 2 pound slab of bacon. He made himself 8 eggs, 4 peices of toast with strawberry jelly, and the entire box of grits.

He honestly didn't care if this wasn't healthy. Or logical. He was damned hungry. He felt his stomach send tremors of hunger through him.

"Now hold on! I'm hurrying as fast as I can." He murmured to his stomach, a habit he'd formed over the last few months.

When his hefty meal was finished, he set to eating it. Wheatley loved the flavours, he loved the feeling of being full, he loved it all. Wheatley leaned back in his seat, pulling his waistband down. He rubbed the underside of his stomach,where the band had tattooed itself into his skin.

He smiled happily. He always forgot the terrible parts of the world when he was full. His unhappiness, his guilt. He felt great. Perhaps today would be pleasant.

Wheatley stood up and began clearing the table, yawning. Wheatley always napped after eating, an hour long nap before going to work.

Wheatley had a tendency to ignore facts if they didn't make him happy. For example, he knew very well that sleeping after eating leads to weight gain. But a nap after eating was so relaxing.

He looked out the window, the sun just peeking above the horizon. It's golden rays bathed the empty lot in front of his house in a lovely shine. Wheatley felt the urge to go outside and enjoy the morning.

He eyed his bedroom down the hall. He always napped after breakfast... but it would truly be a waste to ignore this lovely morning. He sighed, setting the dishes in the sink. He stretched and walked outside onto his porch.

The warm morning air was a lovely welcome. Wheatley breathed it in. Wheatley loved being outside, but generally he was too afraid of people to go outside. Early mornings were a great time.

Wheatley sat down in his bench-swing. He enjoyed the silence. He looked down at the side of his house, he should plant some more flowers. He liked the idea of that. Maybe some pink poppies, or azaleas. The wildflowers in the empty lot in front of his house bowed to the gentle breeze, as the night crickets gave way to the morning birds.

He smiled. He was glad he had come out. That is... until he looked to the house beside him. His heart dropped when he saw his new neighbor.

She was planting what looked to be a hibiscus tree. That raven hair, caramel colored skin, and those green-gray eyes. There was no mistaking it. It was her.

Wheatley began to panic. His heart beat quickened, as his body began to tense up.' She is alive. She is alright. I'm so scared. Thank god. I'm so sorry.' He thought. He was so scared, but so relieved.

She caught sight of him and waved. It wasn't a friendly neighborly wave. Just a wave that said, 'I've said hello now go away'.

Wheatley was paralyzed. His heart began beating like a hummingbird's. It was so loud. He felt like he was going to die.

He felt the tears well up in his eyes, as he dashed back inside. He shut the door and slid down the wall, sobbing.

"Oh my god!" He cried. "Oh my god!" He repeated, putting the palm of his hand to his forehead.

All the emotions he kept hidden burst from him. Pain, regret, relief, worry, and fear. He was so sorry. He felt sick to his stomach. He felt awful. The phone rang, suddenly.

Wheatley tried to calm down, but still answered the phone weeping.

"H-hello?"

"Wheatley? Is that you?" Mayamintes said.

"Yes." He choked out between sobs.

"Are you ok?!"

He hiccuped another yes.

"What happened?"

"Sick." Wheatley lied.

"Still, huh?"

Wheatley sat down on the couch, desperately wishing he could stop crying.

"You need another day off, huh?" Mayamintes sighed.

Wheatley could've stayed home, but he didn't think that staying here with Her outside would help him.

"No! I'm fine!" He wiped away his tears. "I can work!" He said, trying to sound sure of himself.

Mayamintes was worried. This was unusual behavior, even for Wheatley.

"Wheatley. I know something is wrong."

Wheatley paled. "Please don't Maya. Please. Just drop it. It'll be easier. Maya. Please don't." Wheatley, broke off into sobs again.

"Wheatley? What is going on over there?"

"Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!" He yelled into the phone.

Mayamintes was really worried. Wheatley always avoided talking to people when he was upset, but this? This was different. He was talking to them. He was crying. Mayamintes wanted to help Wheatley. They thought for a while, before deciding what would be best.

"...I'm booking you another appointment with Ms. Freja. Talk to her, and she'll help you." Mayamintes paused. "I promise."

Wheatley couldn't handle this right now. His new neighbor was the most amazing and strong person, whom he betrayed for no reason, and now Maya was booking him an appointment with the psychiatrist. The same psychiatrist who treated him like a child, and chided him. He hated being treated like a baby. He wasn't a moron!

Maybe back when he was a robot, MAYBE then. But now? He was a functioning adult! Well...sort of functioning.

"I don't need to see a bloody shrink!" He sobbed.

"What has happened to you, kid? You're bawling like a babe. I really think that Freja could help you. Everybody's noticed that you're always upset. We've all been worried. Just... please."

Wheatley nodded. "O-ok." His life was terrible! He hated everything. He didn't care if he sounded like a teenaged angsty brat, he was having the worst few days. First being sick the previous day, then the lady showing up, and now he had to talk to the fucking shrink?

"Make yourself some tea, get yourself a blanket, and hunker down and watch some TV. You need to relax. I mean, you work 6 days a week. You never ask for off-days. That's probably why you're so upset all the time. Take the rest of the week off, Freja will see you at 2 on monday. Three days, got it?"

Wheatley hiccuped before saying "Okay."

Wheatley held the phone up to his ear until the dial tone hurt his head. He dropped the phone, without bothering to put it back on the base.

When life was overwhelming Wheatley had only one way to deal with it. Wheatley dragged his feet as he slowly walked into the kitchen.

He opened the fridge and cursed. He'd eaten everything. He'd have to shop before he could eat. He leaned against the fridge before sliding to the floor.

He put his head into his hands and let out a long drawn out whine. He stood, and gave a dejected look to his fridge. He walked to his room and turned off all the lights, closed the curtains and went to sleep.

Sleep was an escape. Anything to get away from this reality. His heart hurt. His stomach told him he was empty. He wanted to eat. He was hungry. As he slept, he subconsciously rubbed his stomach.


	6. Feint Nightmares

GORE WARNING!!!

Nightmares manifested in front of his vision, turning his hopes and dreams into fears and screams.

He was crying on the ground, the world warping around him. It was black, the whole world was black. He was glowing, a gentle blue.

He looked up and a red droplet landed on his cheek. He dragged his finger in it and looked at it. He screamed, as it began raining blood. A wave of blood flooded the room, sweeping Wheatley into its maw. Wheatley couldn't swim, he desperately flailed as he realized he couldn't breathe.

He was going to die. He felt the pressure increase. Suddenly he felt the urge to drink. He began swallowing the blood. It was awful, but he couldn't stop. He felt his stomach churn as the blood was pushed into it.

His stomach swelled and swelled, until he felt the button on his pants release. He cried into the blood, swallowing more. More and more.

At last he drained the room and breathed in. Then he realized the room was full of neurotoxin. He tried to stand, but it hurt his stomach too much. He sobbed as he waited for death.

He saw GLaDos's optic glow from behind the green tinted darkness. "Hello."

Wheatley sobbed louder.

"No! Please no!" He covered his head. He couldn't take any more abuse from her. He needed this to end. He needed to wake up.

"Moron, it's fine. I stopped the dream. It's time for your check up." Her voice was clear. He knew he wasn't dreaming anymore. GLaDOS was contacting his dreams again.

He looked up at her. He wiped away some of his tears.

"We need to talk. I've noticed you've been upset more than usual within the past three days. Your stress levels are incredibly high. What is going on?" Wheatley knew GLaDOS wasn't worried about him, she was worried about the experiment.

He hiccuped. "It's all been terrible! Everything keeps getting worse and worse, just the other day I had to go to a party! I know that doesn't sound all that bad, in fact it sounds fun, but for me it wasn't! I was bloody terrified the whole time! Everybody had their eyes on me, not literally because humans can't take their eyes out of their sockets but you get the ji-"

"SILENCE!" GLaDOS hissed.

Wheatley rambled now because his dreams were not effected by his pills. He couldn't control everything he said. He bowed his head, before hiccuping and crying again. GLaDOS couldn't care less. She rolled her optic.

"Back to business," she said calmly, "I've also noticed your nightmares have been focused on... your weight."

Wheatley felt ashamed.

"Look at yourself, moron. Tell me, do you think you are smaller than the fat lunatic? Because you aren't, You fat waste of space." GLaDOS normally didn't insult him directly.

Wheatley wailed at the mention of the lady. He felt his heart clench, GLaDOS's grip on his mind slipping. The world began to fall apart. Peices of the world fell away, disappearing into the nightmare.

"Calm down! Please calm down!" GLaDOS begged, it was so unnatural coming from her.

GLaDOS began piecing the world together into a calming place. She made the ground pillows, and made a blanket for Wheatley to wrap himself in. A box of tissue materialized beside him.

"See? Everything is fine. You're safe." She said in Caroline's voice. "Moron." She hissed under her breath.

Wheatley nuzzled into the blanket, tightly wrapping himself in it. He began rubbing his still full stomach. He used the tissue to wipe away his tears.

"What was that? What set you off?"

Wheatley simply sighed. "I found her."

GLaDOS reeled back. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" She cocked her head to the side.

"The lady. She lives next to me." Wheatley sniffled.

"What. Did. You. Say. To. Her!?" She lifted him off the ground by his neck, using a shadow. The black shadow's whispy form in his peripheral. The shadow gripped his neck, cold and wet.

Wheatley choked. "I... didn't. ... talk..." he clawed at the shadow. "...too...sad...too...scared...so...

sorry!"

GLaDOS narrowed her eye, before releasing him. The shadow patted him on the head. "Excellent."

"You don't want me to talk to her?" He said rubbing his neck.

"I don't want you bringing her back here, whale. One obese idiot is enough." Wheatley pulled his shirt down. Even if it didn't matter. That one stung.

"I have better things to do than listen to a blimp cry over little things. Don't lead her to me and we are fine. I'll check with you tomorrow night. "

Glados began disappearing. "Wait! Wait no! Fix the nightmare! Fix the-" Glados was gone. And now Wheatley was lucid during his nightmares.

As the world fell away Wheatley's stomach flipped. "No. No. No! Please god no!"

He was engulfed in black.

Wheatley saw himself in the dark. His core self, tiny, weak, afraid. Pitiful. Wheatley stepped towards it.

"Look out little me, there's bad things coming." He whispered. Why was he bothering talking to a dream character? What was the point?

Suddenly the core lifted from the ground, a massive body appearing. A monster. It smiled at him.

"Ello!" Its ungodly voice said.

Wheatley backed away.

"Aw, don't be afraid, mate! I'm only you." It stepped forward.

"You aren't me!" He backed away.

The beastly version of himself laughed. "Of course I am, chum! I even have that wretch with me!" It turned and motioned behind it. A light illuminated the Lady's form. She was nailed up on a cross, with a crown of thorns. Her body limp, the spikes through her hands were bleeding. Rusty red mixed with the furious crimson of her blood. She was crying, tears of gold, what looked to be a halo glowing from behind.

A true goddess, suffering at the hands of one whom she had called friend.

She was bleeding. Wheatley gagged, and dropped to his knees. "Let her go." He said, shakily.

"Mmm. No. Don't think so, she looks so lovely hung up like that. Lovely trophy she is." It smirked. "Might put her back in testing."

"No! Do not! Let her go you monster!" His tone became loud and angry.

"Me? A monster? Oh no, mate. I'm only what you are, pal. To be honest I'm quite ashamed of myself. Having to be like you. Fat. Ugly. A smelly human. Look at you." It laughed, circling him. It poked Wheatley's belly. "Funny. Now you're the fatty-fatty-no-parents. Well More of a 'fatty-fatty-no-friends'."It laughed.

Wheatley stood up and begged the beast. "Let her go. If you're me you'll see what's wrong with this!"

"Oh be quiet! you bloody pig. On and on! Look at you. You honestly think you aren't me. Hilarious." it leaned in close."Time to teach you a lesson, huh?"

Wheatley glowed blue, floating up. The monster started controlling him. "Ooooh! This feels amazing! " it looked at Wheatley's hands.

"Stop! Please! I'll do anything!" Wheatley begged.

"You won't learn anything if you back out, mate!" It laughed.

"Let's go porky!" It forced him to walk towards the lady.

Wheatley fought every step. "Please stop! Stop!I'm begging you!"

His goddess, his friend, his greatest ally, it wanted to hurt her, it wanted to make her suffer. Wheatley eventually gave in to the monster's control. He was forced to walk to her.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. She looked heart broken, she was losing a friend. She had lost a friend. She didn't want this. Wheatley cried, all the woman had ever wanted was to be free.

Wheatley felt his hands become wet, as he dug into her stomach. He heard the awful squelch of the flesh giving way, blood oozing from the wound. He grabbed hold of her intestines and began pulling, she screamed in agony.

Wheatley brought the meat to his mouth and bit down into it, blood running down his chin, a wild look in his eyes. Monster. He was a monster.

Wheatley began maiming her, ripping into flesh, tearing into her chambers. He tore her apart, licking his hands clean. He owned her. She was his toy.

In his mind he sobbed. He didn't want this! Chell didn't deserve this! She deserved a safe life, full of happiness and peace, not this!

Her head hung limp, her insides splayed out and bleeding. What was left of her intestines were dumping blood onto the floor, making it smell humid and coppery. Wheatley felt sickness. So much blood... he felt as though he might faint. But you can't faint in a dream.

"Ah. Much better, mm? Tastes good doesn't it, mate?" The monster teased. Wheatley's legs gave out from beneath him. "Oh don't be like that, pig! You're only indulging in a little treat!"

Wheatley had no energy, this was awful. This was the worst thing he'd ever seen. Even if he knew this was a dream, it still hurt his heart. Chell. He wanted his friend to be happy, and safe, and to live freely.

He didn't want to hurt her. He was so afraid he'd hurt her. He didn't want this!

Chell dropped from the wall, her hands still held by the chains. Blood oozed from both her disembodied hands and from her arms. Wheatley grabbed her legs, kneeling down.

Wheatley internally screamed as he bit into her thighs. He chewed into her like she was a Christmas turkey. She tasted so good, and that was what sickened Wheatley the most. He ate until he hit the bone.

The monster pouted for a moment before taking the bone in both hands and breaking it, all the while Chell screamed.

"See? Feels good, doesn't it? You know you love it. You know this isn't me. You know very well that-" it looked to Chell. "-THIS was all YOU."

Chell looked up at him, reaching her bloodied stump arm at him. She was in so much pain. She was suffering because of him.

He raised his hand to her, and brought it down onto her shoulder, knocking it out of place. He felt himself grin as he clenched his fist and began to beat her face. Her gentile features began to bruise purple, bleeding into dark holes in her skull as he continued destroying her.

He grabbed her bottom lip, and yanked as hard as he could. It didn't just tear off, it pulled a ribbon of flesh behind it, like peeling a banana. It pulled all down her neck, revealing her jugular. Blood squirted from it all over him.

"Bloody whore... ruined my nice shirt!" The monster hissed.

It grabbed her jaw, and pulled it as well.

"Don't need this!"

It pulled as skin tore around her cheeks, each new tear bleeding down a crimson cascading river, god there was so much blood.

Her jaw came free with a pop, he could see right into her throat. Her teeth were stained pink, her eyes still wet.

He grabbed her right eye, pulling it out as well. He gave an upset look to her optic nerve when the eye didn't come loose immediately. He bit it, yanking violently.

He grinned at they eye with a childish amusement, dangling it by the severed cord.

"I see you! " he laughed.

He stood, looking at his work, grinning. "Well done!"

Chell, with her last strength, looked at him with her lone eye. Though she had no jaw she managed to utter a single word.

"Nohrahn."

It took him a moment to understand.

Moron. She had called him a moron, even in this state she was still fighting.

Wheatley couldn't take this, with burst of strength he began to scream. He screamed and fought and fought and kicked until he was awoken by the wall by his bed. He had run into it.

He continued screaming, sobbing his eyes out. He held onto the wall, sinking deeper onto his knees. He fell to his side, and curled into a fetal position. He covered his face, whimpering.

It hurt so much. Wheatley shakily stood, leaning on his wall for support. He managed to make it into his bathroom.

He stumbled to the toilet, sobbing into the toilet bowl. He felt so sick. He vomited.

After he had completely emptied his stomach he finally left the bowl. He washed out his mouth, still shaking. He looked at his reflection and teared up again.

Too many nights had been like this. Too many times had he looked at his own reflection with disgust. Wheatley stared into his eyes, full of hopelessness.

His thoughts were muddled, and confusing, each burning a line into his book of fear. Wheatley sighed heavily.

He looked at his watch. 11:24 am. He hadn't slept for more than an hour. His habit of sleeping for an hour must have made it easier for him to awaken.

Wheatley exited the bathroom, pausing by his bed. He thought about remaking it but decided against it, turning swiftly and walking into the hallway, and then the living room.

He grabbed his wallet from the coffee table, sitting down. He noticed the phone still on the floor and returned it to the reciever. Wheatley adjusted his glasses, opening his wallet. He thumbed through his banknotes and sighed, relieved.

He had roughly $700. Plenty. He took out about $100. He was going shopping, so he'd not have a redo of earlier.

He put the bills in his pocket and trotted over to the mirror. He wiped away his tears and held his breath. He let it out slowly. Everything was fine. He was okay.

He nodded to his reflection affirmatively.

The day was still young, he couldn't waste time. This, however, was an awful idea. Considering what had just happened, he surely would have done best to just sit by the TV and relax.

Wheatley also was very hungry as well, so he just had to. He straightened his bows, and adjusted his glasses.

Wheatley stepped out of his house, eyes closed. He didn't want to see the lady. He wouldn't be able to face her, he'd start crying and then it would just be the worst.

Of course, being unable to see, he promptly ran into the supporting beam of his porch... and then fell down the steps. He fell down and lost his glasses.

"Bugger!" He hissed. He began searching for his glasses. Instead he felt somebody's leg.

He jerked his hands away, getting back on his knees. "Oh! Uh-uh- pardon me-" he narrowed his eyes at whomever was there. "-Er s-sorry c-can't see without my glasses."

He heard a feminine chuckle. He instantly stood up and brushed himself off.

"Oh- s-sorry madam." He chuckled awkwardly. "h-have you seen my glasses by chance?"

He heard another chuckle and the blurry figure took his hand and placed his glasses in his hand.

"Ah, thank you!" He said returning them to the bridge of his nose.

The lady was standing right before him. Wheatley tensed up. He was so close he could smell the dirt on her clothes, as she smiled at him.

"Hi, I'm Chell, I'm your new neighbor. Sorry about earlier, I'm not the most socialable person."

Wheatley fainted.


	7. Neighbors

When Wheatley came to, he was on his porch. The lady was right by him, she had carried him to the bench swing adjecent to the railing. Wheatley was both impressed and terrified. He was rather heavy.

She gave him a concerned look. "Are you alright?"

Wheatley tried to speak but found that the words caught in his throat. He sat there, like a fish gaping for water.

The woman cocked her head to the side. "Should I call an ambulance?"

Wheatley forced himself to speak. "No! No! Just fainted is all!"

He stood up, wobbling a bit.

"Well, th-Thank you very much, I've got to go though- pleasure to meet you!" He said speedily, trotting away.

He speed walked down the street in the direction of the store.

-

What a weird guy. She didn't even get his name before he'd run off.

Chell didn't think much of the strange guy, finding him rather boring. From what she'd heard he was the librarian and lived alone.

She was at least grateful that he was probably the quiet type and wouldn't bother her too much. She didn't like chatting anyway.

People annoyed her to no end, their voices, their opinions, she hated them all.

Now she wouldn't voice that to anyone ever, but her body language made it obvious. People weren't her forte, much less trusting them.

She sighed, turning back to her home. Maybe her neighbor was the best neighbor to have. A quiet recluse, someone who wouldn't bother her.

Yes, that sounded nice. Quiet, peaceful, and not annoying.

She entered her home, hand lingering on the companion cube by her door. She smiled at it and continued in.

Her house was still littered with boxes that she still hadn't unpacked. She didn't quite feel like doing it now, so she walked to the kitchen. She began making lunch, humming the song the turrets has sung to her as she left that hellhole.

She wondered for a moment what had become of Wheatley and GLaDOS? GLaDOS was probably still testing, miles below the Earth's crust. Cold, yet somehow motherly.

Wheatley? Probably dead by now. His lifeless shell orbiting the moon. Chell shuddered to think of it. He had probably died alone.

She was ashamed to admit it but, sometimes she missed the moron. He had been the closest thing to a friend she'd ever had. Then he'd betrayed her.

Like a fool, he betrayed her.

"What a moron."


	8. Craven Crybaby

Wheatley got a chill down his spine, and without thinking murmured "not a moron..."

He realized what he had said and confusedly blinked. He ran his fingers through his hair. "I must be more tired than I thought I was."

He made his way into the grocery store, waving at the owner, Reggie.

Reggie was an Irish man, who was shorter than Wheatley but much more buff. His short red hair was styled like a businessman's.

"Top of the morning to ya! How ya doing Mr. Wheatley!" Reggie said, chipper.

"O-oh- I'm fine thank you, just needed some groceries." He forced a smile.

Wheatley was so tired. He didn't even realize how tired he was until he found himself leaning on his basket yawning. But he didn't want to sleep.

This all had happened before. Nightmare, hunger, then not sleeping for a few days. The dark circles under his eyes made him look frightening, but they evidenced his pain.

He pushed his cart grabbing all his usual foods, 7 tubs of ice cream, ingredients for his pastries, cake mix, eggs, bacon, etc.

He filled his basket with food, yawning all the way. He was exhausted why was he so exhausted? Tired, tired, tired...

He made his way to the checkout and paid. "Have a good day, Wheatley! And get some sleep, ya look tired!"

Wheatley smiled and left. He cursed when he realized he'd left his bag and so he had to carry all of his groceries home.

He struggled to carry them all but managed, carrying a few bags in his teeth.

The walk home was boring and full of struggle, trying to keep all the bags in his arms. He managed to get home, setting his groceries down and sighing.

He put them away, leaving a tub of ice cream out. Cherry vanilla. His favorite.

He took a spoon and grabbed the ice cream collapsing on the couch.

He turned on the TV, but static filled the channel. He stared into it for a moment before tears began to blur his vision.

He began to sob, tears fogging up his glasses.

Forcefully, he yanked off the wrappings on top of the ice cream and began to eat.

"She didn't deserve any of this!" He hiccuped. "And its all my fault. And now- now she's right there and I'm too much of a coward to go and tell her- to tell her-" he broke off into sobs.

He'd been holding back his emotions and now they had ripped out of him. Tearing his fragile heart into pieces, not caring how much it hurt him.

Ice cream was his only solace at this time, in this lonesomeness. In his regret, where he sat alone, wishing he'd never been created.

He couldn't dry his eyes, too many tears replaced the ones he'd wipe away.

The static filled his empty heart and encouraged his sadness to translate into hunger. He pretended that it helped to eat all the ice cream. That it helped to make himself sick on sweets.

His spoon soon hit the bottom of the container and upset, he wanted more. He didn't care how sick he'd be, he just wanted to fill up the emptiness he felt.

And so, he grabbed another.


	9. Guilt

By the time he'd finished he had eaten three tubs of ice cream, and felt sick.

But at least it distracted him from his sadness. He leaned back on his couch, eyes half-lidded. He stared at the ceiling, full yet so empty.

The phone rang, but he didn't answer. Annoying people. Always calling. Always saying hello. He just wanted to be left alone and never have to see anyone.

He hated people. He'd never voice that, but he did.

How they always tried to help. Nobody could help him. The darkness was everywhere and it hung over him like a fog. There was no point in trying.

The phone rang again. This time he answered. "Ello?"

"I just wanted to check in. Are you okay?" Rosalie.

"I'm fine." Wheatley lied blatantly. He was so far from fine.

"Okay. Whisp had a dream you had done something you couldn't take back. I was worried."

Wheatley could barely keep his sobs back. "I'm okay, I swear." He was such a liar. He wasn't okay! He knew it too!

"Okay. Well- stay safe, okay?" Rosalie said, her voice softer and less frightened.

"I will."

With that the phone call was over and Wheatley felt even worse. He had done something he couldn't take back. The poor lady- Chell, her name was Chell, he'd hurt her.

He'd probably ruined her life. And it was all his fault!

He destroyed everything he touched- he had broken every good thing that had happened in his miserable existence.

He was so tired of it.

His stomach churned making him wince. He sighed heavily. "Maybe listening to some music will help."

He skulked to the back porch and to his radio. He turned it on to his favorite station.

"Hello Darkness my old friend~"

He quickly changed the channel.

"I'm a freak, I'm a weirdo-"

He was getting tired of these sad songs.

The next station he turned to was playing Johnny Cash's cover of Hurt. Wheatley simply sighed letting it play.

He mouthed the words as tears resumed, nothing felt alive anymore.

He sat there silently for a while.

——

Chell watched her neighbor. He was crying on his back porch.

Part of her felt bad for him but she knew better. Trusting the weak often came back to bite you.

Especially when that weak person sounds so much like the one who hurt you.

His tears seemed ceaseless, like he had just lost somebody. He looked awful, his hair a mess, she could see the dark circles under his eyes. The only thing she could think is that he looked so old.

Like he was ready to go into the light and never come back.

Chell felt a shiver crawl up her spine. She remembered, during her travels, finding a man who looked just as her neighbor did. No amount of convincing could have saved him, that night he was gone.

She wanted to go out and say something but that would require admitting she was watching him, and frankly, she didn't want to.

So she turned away from the window, leaving the poor man to continue crying all alone.


	10. Exhaustion

Hours passed and Chell checked the window several times. He still sat there, staring ahead blankly. Tears still escaped his eyes but he didn't react to them. Like a statue, he stared.

She didn't know him but she wondered what he'd been through. What had hurt him this badly.

She soon went to bed, thinking about the man and how alone he looked.

When she awoke, she was shocked to find him still there. His eyes were half-lidded and dark, but he was awake. The lines were his tears ran were still wet but he didn't cry.

He'd run out of tears.

Now Chell had to say something. He'd sat there all night.

She made coffee and decided to invite him over.

But the moment she opened her door, he rushed inside. Like a cat, he simply disappeared.

Quietly reentering his home, and shutting the door.

—-

Wheatley's head was throbbing. He was so tired, so tired... he yawned.

"Can't sleep... bad idea... need to stay..." he yawned again. "Awake..."

He leaned against the backdoor. Peeking out, he sighed when the lady went back inside. He was a coward.

He knew he was a coward and that's what upset him the most. He wished he had the courage to go say "I'm sorry for what I did to you." He wished. But he was not even worthy of being in her presence.

He wasn't even worthy of being in GLaDOS's presence. He deserved android hell.

Part of him found himself wishing GLaDOS hadn't let him go, he wished instead she had killed him.

Then the lady, Chell, she'd be happy. She'd have closure.

A knock at the door startled him out of his downward spiral. Afraid, he crept to the door.

"Hello? Who is it?" He asked.

"It's your neighbor. I wanted to talk to you."

Her voice... was so nice. He opened the door slightly, peeking out.

"Hey, I wanted to invite you over for some breakfast? You were out there all night." She smiled. "I'm sorry for getting in your business but you look pretty down."

Wheatley opened the door fully, hands grasping each other as he shook.

"Jeez. You look-" she paused. "You look terrible."

"S-sorry. I'm just having a bad couple of days." He partially lied. "It happens sometimes."

"Well I'm making pancakes, if you'd like some?" Chell offered.

Wheatley really really didn't want to say no, especially because there was free food involved. But his heart was thumping in his ears.

"I- Okay." He managed to say.

"Okay!" She smiled brightly. "Come on over whenever you're ready."

She turned around, and went back to her house.

Wheatley gulped. Maybe this was fate, maybe he was supposed to tell her. He put on a brave face. Yeah! He was supposed to! He could finally apologize- maybe- maybe it would be okay!

He went into his restroom and let his hair down, brushing through it. He pulled it into a bun and adjusted his glasses.

Looking at his reflection it was obvious he looked tired. He sighed. He didn't want to have to go through another nightmare. Especially considering GLaDOS wouldn't be too pleased he'd skipped their check-up.

What if the lady didn't forgive him?

Wheatley gulped. He had to be strong. He had to tell her, she deserved to know.

But what if she hated him? What if she wouldn't even acknowledge his existence? What if she told everyone what he had done?

That settled it. He couldn't tell her.

Coward, coward, coward!

He left the house and went to her door. He knocked lightly.

Chell opened the door, and smiled. "Hey." She waved.

Wheatley, a bundle of frayed nerves, gave a weak wave back. "H-hello."

"Come on in." Chell moved aside for him to enter, and he did, eyes darting from side to side.

He couldn't help but be afraid. He entered, shaking. "L-lovely house you've got."

"Thank you, I'm still getting moved in though." She said setting the table.

He stood behind one of the chairs, too nervous to sit.

"Go ahead, it's okay."

He gulped and nodded, pulling the seat from its place. "Thank you."

"So I never got your name."

His stomach dropped, dread forming in his heart. "I- I- m- my name has some bad memories for me-"

Chell was slightly curious as to what those memories were but didn't push.

"Okay stranger."

He didn't mind the name. It wasn't insulting, it just meant somebody you didn't know.

Ah but she did know him. She just didn't know she did.

He laughed dryly. "Yeah..."

"So do you mind if I ask what made you sit out there all night?"

Wheatley couldn't keep the tears back. They filled his vision before he even spoke.

"Woah, are you okay?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." He said, brushing his tears away.

Chell, not knowing how to repair the awkward situation, stood. "I'll go get breakfast."

She entered the kitchen and got the pancakes and some bacon. She prepared a pot of tea and brought it in as well.

"Wow, That smells absolutely fantastic." Wheatley said, for once being honest.

He loved food though. How could he lie about food? It's not like she could use that information to hurt him anyway.

Chell placed a plate in front of him. "Don't wait for me, go ahead."

The pancakes were delicate and fluffy, he gave an honest smile around his fork.

"You like my cooking?"

"Oh it's lovely, well done!"

Well done. The words echoed in that same accent as the voice of Wheatley. The monster who has said those very words after each test.

Chell felt her dear old friend fear well up in her. She gulped, hands shaking.

Wheatley looked up and saw the fear in her eyes and his smile faded. She knew didn't she?

He gulped.

"Sorry- had a flash back-" Chell said. "It happens sometimes."

Wheatley could only nod. "I see." He yawned, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes.

"I know it's a touchy subject- but you really shouldn't stay up all night like that."

Wheatley sighed. "Sometimes your thoughts keep you up, sometimes they scar you to sleep."

Chell didn't understand what that meant but sighed. "Yeah."

The two ate their breakfast, and Wheatley thanked her, leaving. He didn't tell her the truth. He didn't admit who he was- he - he really was a coward.

He walked down the steps, and into his house. He shut the door, and locked it.

His stomach was pleasantly full, but his heart was so so very empty.

How could he have not told her?

He yawned, eye lids drooping. He could barely stay awake. He stumbled to his room, and without changing into night clothes, fell fast asleep at 10 in the morning.

—-


	11. Shrink

A horrible beeping woke him. He fumbled for the alarm clock, slamming his hand down trying to shut the damned contraption off.

He couldn't, and so he sat up, groggily.

When had he set that alarm? He yawned.

It was 1 pm, Monday.

He sighed. Wasn't there something he was supposed to do today?

He thought. And thought. Then, dread filled his being.

Freja. He had to see that stupid shrink!

He jumped out of bed and stumbled to his dresser changing his clothes. He checked the clock and saw it was already 1:15!

He hurried into the kitchen and grabbed some leftover pie, he knew very well it wasn't a balanced breakfast but it was easy, and it tasted so good.

He grabbed his keys, bag, and quickly brought his messy hair into a pony tail.

He rushed out the door and began padding off to the therapy center.

—-

"Now, Mr Wheatley, how are you?" Dr. Freja asked.

Wheatley's eyes narrowed, but he answered with a smile. "I'm well."

Ooh he hated her! Stupid woman. She already had that 'I'm your superior' tone in her voice. He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat with a sour look on his face. He didn't like being treated like a child.

"That's not what Mayamintes said."

Wheatley clenched his teeth. Stupid woman. Awful lady. Terrible person! He hated her!

"Now, as we've been through, you cry a lot more than the average man. More than the average woman too-"

'Yes we've been through this, you loon. What? Are you trying to hurt my feelings?' He thought angrily.

"- So I must ask, Why haven't you let me prescribe you some anti-depressants? Or a service animal?" Freja sounded genuinely concerned.

Wheatley picked up on it, but sank into himself a little, looking away from her.

"Mr. Wheatley, we all know you have multiple disorders that you refuse to treat. The question is why? You suffer from PTSD, Major Depressive Disorder, night terrors, and God knows what else! I've diagnosed you, why won't you allow us to help you?"

"You helped my adhd, I'm fine." He muttered.

"No you aren't! You aren't ok! I'm going out of my limits as your psychiatrist but damn it I need to! You aren't ok! We are worried about you. All of us."

Wheatley looked away from her.

"Why don't you want to stop suffering?"

Wheatley desperately wanted out of there. He didn't want to hear this. Especially from someone who was as big of a jerk as Freja. Wheatley did the only thing he could do in that moment. He stood up, and walked out.

Freja chased after him. "Wait!"

Wheatley turned around angrily. "I don't want to suffer!" He snarled. "Did you ever stop for one bloody second to think, that MAYBE I didn't want to be bothered by a bunch of loony people who think THEY know what's best for ME?" He stepped forward. "Do you think i need you chastising me constantly? Do you think that I want to FUCKING be labeled as a bloody psycho?" He stepped closer. "Huh?!" He slammed his fist onto the wall.

Freja looked terrified. Chell's face flashed in Freja's place. Regret washed over Wheatley as he looked at his hands. Wheatley turned around and began to run, hoping that nobody had seen him begin to cry.

He ran out of the office, and back to his home. He slammed the door and leaned against it, panting heavily.

Frustrated and sad, he screamed. He slammed his hand on the wall. "Damn it all!" He yelled, his voice raw. He began to sob.

He paced back and forth for a moment before going back outside.

Wheatley walked around the side of his house and grabbed his garden tools. He walked over to his azaleas and began to weed the bed.

His movements were hard and fast, frustration eating him alive. He slammed his trowel down, reaching for his clippers. He swore when his hand met moist earth instead.

He stomped over to the shed, grabbed his clippers angrily, and then promptly stepped on a rake. The handle smacked him in the face.

Wheatley threw his clippers down and kicked the rake. He repeatedly kicked it, rage pouring from him.

The rake hit him in the shoulder, and he finally stopped. He took it and slammed it against the shed, snapping it.

He breathed heavily, hands still clenched. Wheatley bit his lip and sank to his knees. He helplessly sobbed, covering his face.

He didn't care if the dirt got into his hair, or if his tears fogged up his glasses.

—

Chell had seen her neighbor's little outburst.

He'd stormed into the backyard and managed to smack himself in the face with a rake.

He currently was crying in his garden.

Poor guy.

From the moment she'd first met the guy she felt like she knew him. Like they had known each other long ago.

Maybe in a past life?

She could also tell he was a sad soul, lonely and upset. But what had made him like that? Even after their first meeting... he'd just been quiet.

She stood by her window watching him. She heard a crack of thunder as it began raining.

He jumped at the sound, and Chell could see the terror in his eyes.

The rain became harder, yet still he sat there, crying.

Chell watched him lay down, face first in the dirt. He obviously didn't care enough to stand and walk inside.

Chell wasn't good with people, but she certainly could tell there was something wrong with him.

She went and got her umbrella, and stepped outside.

She walked to her backyard, frowning when she saw him still laying there.

She walked over to him and held the umbrella over him.

He seemed to notice that the rain wasn't beating against him, and lifted his head.

His eyes looked tired, tears still streaming from them. His mouth was pulled into a frown, barely holding back sobs. His shoulders shook,

as he stared up at her helplessly.

"Hey, come on. You'll get a cold." She extended her hand down to him.

He took her hand, but couldn't keep from crying.

She pulled him up, patting his back. She didn't know him, but for a moment she swore she remembered his voice.

Him...? No- no they just shared an accent. They couldn't be the same person.

She shuddered at the thought of that monster.

"I'm so s-sorry." He said, hiccuping through tears and rain.

"Don't apologize, we all have bad days." She said.

She walked him to his front porch.

"Go have a bath, warm up. I'll see you later, Stranger." She waved.

He stood there momentarily, his eyes wide. He gathered himself and gave a small wave back, as he turned and entered his house.


	12. Decision

A few days passed, Wheatley rarely leaving the house. His heart still ached. He was tired constantly no matter how much he slept- he didn't feel like doing anything. Moving.

All he wanted to do was eat and sleep.

He turned over in his bed, the lights were out and the curtains were drawn.

The phone rang, for the seventh time that day. He finally answered, creeping slowly to the line. "Ello?" His voice was soft and slightly raspy.

"Hi Wheatley." Mayamintes said, sounding annoyed.

"I heard what you did at Freja's."

Wheatley couldn't hold back tears. "Why can't you all just leave me be?"

"Wheatley, I'm not mad- I just- you need help."

He growled. "No I don't! What I need is for you to leave me be!!!" He slammed the phone down.

He bawled into his hands, hurting so badly.

He just didn't know how to take it.

He wanted to be left alone. That's all he wanted.

He soon grew tired, and fell asleep on his couch.

He had another nightmare, one that scared him so terribly he awoke crying again.

He dreamed something so horrible that he wouldn't dare think of anything that happened.

But it did something productive at least. It settled his mind. He had to apologize.

Because he'd dreamed Chell was still hurting because of him. That every day she struggled like he did- that every day she cried.

He dreamed that he had ruined her life for good. That she had no future all because of him.

He currently stood in his trousers, shirtless, in front of the refrigerator. It was nearly empty now, but his distended stomach was far from.

The doctor had told him many times that comfort eating wasn't good for him. But that stupid doctor just wanted to control him like everyone else!

He heard his stomach make an awful squelch and winced. "Perhaps I've had enough..." he rubbed at the exposed flesh and sighed.

He slowly made his way to the couch. He laid himself down, staring at the ceiling. His stomach had begun to hurt from all the sweets he'd eaten.

How was he supposed to apologize to her.

What? could he just go: "Hey! So turns out I'm not a stranger, I'm Wheatley! So yeah, and I'm sorry?"

Like that would go well! He knew better. He knew what was going to happen, he'd knock the door, thinking of how he couldn't take it anymore. She'd open it and see that he was just batshit crazy- and then he'd come inside and try to talk, but would find his throat had filled with spit! He'd go on and on rambling until he'd finally say it, then she'd call the bloody Secures and they'd haul him off to jail! And then he'd rot away, the jailbirds would probably beat him!

Wheatley began to hyperventilate.

Chell wouldn't ever visit, he'd sit there all alone! On family day nobody would be there for him- he'd grow old and grey and then one day- BAM! He'd die! All alone- nobody would care-

Tears streamed from his eyes, as he shook his head. He sat up and covered his eyes with his palms.

He hated feeling so powerless to it all... like there was nothing he could do at all to make things better.

But he knew he couldn't back out of apologizing. Even if he was powerless and scared, he knew he couldn't because if he did- Chell would continue to live next to him and he'd just feel guilty every single time he saw her.

He had to! He had to!!

His stomach sent a pang of pain through his body. He rested his hand on it and sighed.

But not today... tomorrow.


	13. Apology

He stood at her door, trying to gather the courage to knock. He was terrified out of his mind, and on the verge of tears. He put his hand to the door for maybe the fifth time and retracted it.

He couldn't.

"It's like a band-aid. Gotta do it quick." He mumbled, trying to settle his breathing. "Gotta do it quick." He repeated, raising his hand to the door.

He knocked lightly, gulping. Chell opened the door immediately, apparently having been standing there a while.

Wheatley froze. "H-h-Hel- Hello-" he stuttered. He gulped, again shaking.

"I- need to talk with you about something I should have said a long t-t-TIME ago." He wrung his hands.

"This is unexpected... but yeah, come on in." Chell moved aside, holding the door open.

Wheatley took slow steps, that obviously showed how incredibly nervous he was. He shook like a frightened child.

Chell led him to her living room and to the coffee table. He took a seat in the recliner, sitting with his hands folded in his lap.

"Now What did you want to talk about, stranger?" Chell asked, sitting down on her couch.

Wheatley gulped for the third time. "I- it's the fact that I'm not a stranger to you. You know me." He could barely keep the tears from cascading down his face. "My name. It's- it's Wheatley."

Chell's eyes widened. "What?"

"I had to tell you- after all you've been through- you d-d-deserve to know. "He couldn't hold back the tears any longer. "I'm so sorry. I hurt you and I betrayed you and I can never fix what I've done- but I want you to know that it wasn't your fault- you did nothing wrong- it was all me-"

Chell decked him in the face.

Wheatley fell onto the floor, cowering. He covered his head with his hands, curling into a ball. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry- I'm so so sorry-"

She kicked him. "You fucking bastard!" She hissed. "I knew it! I knew there was something familiar about you!"

"I deserve this I'm sorry- I'm sorry-"

"Sorry won't fix it!" She snarled.

"I know! I know it won't ever fix what I've done to you!" He bawled, sitting up. Chell stood over him menacingly.

"You have every right to beat the ever-living shit out of me-every right!" He hiccuped.

Chell calmed herself down. At least he was owning up to what he did.

"How did you get here?" Chell lifted him by his shirt.

"I live here! I've been living here for nearly a year!"

"No, how did you get back? How are you human? And why the fuck do people trust a vile monster like you?"

Wheatley didn't like being called a monster. Too many nightmares where he'd been one. Too many.

"She- she brought me back- she- she " he couldn't speak. "She destroyed me." That's the only description that made sense to him. "She broke me- she- she killed me- over and over and over- ripped me limb from limb- stabbed me- cut me-" he had begun shaking in her grasp. "Then she grew bored. She let me go. I wasn't smart enough to test- she uses me as a experiment- to see how long an artificial intelligence can survive in a human body-"

"She let you go?"

Wheatley nodded. "She showed me what I did to you. She showed me what I did to her- she showed me what an awful person I am..." he cried. "I looked for you- for a while- but I never found you- I thought-" he broke off into sobs. "I thought I'd killed you."

Chell released him.

"So you, the dumbest moron who ever lived, have a job, a house, and are a functioning person?" Chell asked, narrowing her eyes. That didn't sound right.

"Mayamintes helps me- I have quite a bit of trouble- but-" he wiped away his tears trying to calm down. "They are very helpful."

"Listen to me and listen closely, I don't want to see you anywhere near my house again. Understand?" Chell leaned close to him.

Wheatley's eyes seemed to dull. "Yes. I understand."

"I also don't want you to say a god damn thing to anyone about this. I'll avoid you and you stay the fuck away from me."

Wheatley nodded.

"I'm just so glad you're okay." Wheatley mumbled.

"I don't care how you feel. I. don't. care." She said, poison dripping from her voice.

"I'm sorry. I'll go." Wheatley stood and left, looking behind him once, and then continuing out the door.


	14. Overwhelmed

The moment he was back in his own home he broke down. He couldn't stop crying. He didn't even bother cleaning the area where his skin had burst from Chell's punch. His cheek was swollen and sore but not nearly as sore as his heart.

She hated him. She despised him. And there wasn't a thing he could do to fix it.

Wheatley gravitated to his refrigerator. His only solace. He wouldn't feel this any longer. He wouldn't take the pain.

So he ate, ignoring his sickness, his sadness. He pretended that eating would make it better. Of course it didn't.

After he had finished he went to his back porch. He sat in his rocking chair and stared ahead blankly. One hand rested on his swollen midsection and the other rested under his chin.

He still cried, but this time he was silent. The tears ran down his face without a sound. A silent serenade of pain.

He turned on the radio, to the station that always played the melancholy music. The genre was sort of hip hop and jazz, but it sounded as empty as his heart felt.

"You don't know what you have until you destroy it." A voice said at the beginning of a song.

Wheatley sighed. He stood up and returned to the kitchen, grabbing more food. A box of snack cakes, an ice box pie, and the last tub of ice cream.

He returned to the porch and continued his blank stare, while eating his desserts. He'd forget the pain if it was the last thing he did.


	15. Contempt

Chell watched him, yet again. Again that idiot sat on his porch crying.

Chell had come to the conclusion he was a crybaby. She guessed he couldn't cry when he was a robot, but now that he could he never stopped.

She noticed he was eating ice cream. Weirdo. Crying into a tub of ice cream, and, was he listening to the radio? She quietly opened her back door so she could hear.

He was. Chell heard the melancholic music, Linda Perhacs's Hey now Who Really Cares, and felt a sort of pity. Was he just gonna sit there all night like he had last time?

Chell didn't want to let him out of her sight. Part of her knew he was harmless but her test-trained mind said otherwise.

She watched him for hours. He just sat there, crying, eating. He got up a few times, but only to get more food.

Chell realized he was eating a lot. It couldn't be good for him. But who cares? He was an adult, it was his problem.

Time went by, and before Chell knew it, the clock rung for 12. The moon was high in the sky, and the moron was still sitting there. Still crying, still eating.

He'd been there for 8 hours.

Wheatley didn't seem like the type to be able to sit still for long, but eight hours... She remembered a few days back he'd sat there all night, only getting up once she came outside.

She wondered how many times he'd done this. Sat there, crying, eating like that.

... he was a comfort eater wasn't he?

That made a lot of sense. Chell sighed. Maybe she'd been too hard on him. He did seem sincere when he apologized. He had even owned up to the fact he'd hurt her. He knew.

But she was still angry with him. An apology doesn't fix all the wounds she had. A scar on her ribs from a bomb he'd thrown at her, bullet wounds on her left leg. A scar under her pony tail from falling metal.

He'd damaged her. She had nightmares about him more than nightmares about GLaDOS.

But he also had been in GLaDOS's care. For how long? How long had she abused him?

She noticed his scars too. The scar across his nose, the one under his chin. Chell knew he probably had more.

He was killed over and over. Chell had never died even once. It terrified her to think of what death would be like. How he'd feel to die over and over, not knowing if you'll wake up again.

Guilt suddenly rushed over her, like a wave.

She looked back up at him and found he was gone. She looked around the yard and found him standing outside of his shed.

She narrowed her eyes and noticed he had a pair of hedge trimmers. He raised his arms, the blades facing in.

Chell realized what he was going to do.

She bolted out the backdoor. "Wheatley! What the hell are you doing?"

Wheatley whipped his head around, dropping the clippers in the grass. His hands shook as he stared at her, bewildered.

"I- I'm- oh god- What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be asleep? It's late- " Wheatley suddenly clamped his mouth shut. "I'm sorry for talking- I shouldn't have- I'm-" he backed away. "I'm gonna be gone soon-D-D-Don't worry!-"

"What the hell?" She stepped forward. "Were you just trying to kill yourself?"

He didn't answer, looking away.

"Answer me."

"What does it matter? All I do is ruin things... you said it yourself- I'm the dumbest moron to ever live- what's stopping me from making your life hell?" He began to cry again. "All I do is hurt people. It's all I'm good at."

"Wh- Wheatley- jeez." She ran hand through her hair. "You can't just- you can't-" she sighed.

"Come here."

Wheatley slowly took a few steps forward, still avoiding her eyes. He looked awful.

His stomach was swollen and his shirt was riding up, he'd obviously overeaten.

She walked forward and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about what I was saying, or really listening to you."

Wheatley frowned. "Why're you apologizing? You didn't do a thing wrong! All I ever do is ruin-"

"Quit it!"

Wheatley shut his mouth.

"Come with me, you're staying in my guest room until I figure out what to do with you." Chell said, folding her arms.

"But I've got my own house-"

"You obviously can't be left alone. Look at you- it looks like you swallowed a bowling ball. And the suicide attempt? No- I'm not letting you go back."

Wheatley shamefully covered his stomach, pulling the shirt down.

Chell realized he was ashamed.

"I didn't mean for that to offend you- it's just not good for you to do that." Chell explained.

"I know. The doctor always tells me that." He frowned. "I know."

"Come on. You need to rest- we'll- we'll figure this out in the morning." She put a hand on his back.

"Wait I need my -" he paused.

"Your what?"

Wheatley put the tips of his fingers together. "I can't sleep without my teddy..." he gulped. "You see- I get these awful night terrors..."

Chell now felt really really bad about punching him. He was essentially a panic stricken child. A robot who had been abused and abused and abused- grated down until he was terrified of everything.

The night terrors must've been plaguing him for a while, he had dark circles under his eyes that she'd never paid a second glance to. Chell knew Wheatley wasn't kidding by the look in his eyes.

A night terror is far worse than a nightmare. Chell knew from experience. She'd seen people who'd suffered from them run around in their sleep, screaming, crying, begging for help.

He wasn't the same person who'd hurt her, was he?

"Yeah. Let's go get that. But I'm coming with you." Chell said, walking towards his house.

Wheatley stood there for a moment, dumbly, before following. He was slow, panting slightly. He greatly regretted eating as much as he had, he felt awful.

It hurt. If only Chell hadn't found him. He'd be dead. And he wouldn't be hurting.

"C-could you- hah- wait a moment?" He panted.

Chell turned around and her expression softened. The poor guy looked exhausted.

"Yeah, lets take it slow." She walked back over to him and placed her hand on his back, slowly walking with him to the house.

The steps were a struggle but he managed, with a little help from Chell. He fumbled with his keys for a moment before unlocking the door.

Despite the fact she was still angry with him, she knew he needed help. She'd do her best.

Chell was surprised at the inside of his house. Little glass animals lined the shelves of the hallway leading into his living room. He had a few that Chell really liked, namely a tiger cub and a rabbit playing.

The living room Chell noticed was very cozy, a painting of a kitten sleeping was on the wall, and his television had a few smiley stickers on it.

His coffee table was littered with papers and books, she looked by the opposite wall and found a bookshelf.

"You read?" Chell asked.

"Well I'm the librarian- it's kind of in the job..." Wheatley said, slowly moving along the wall to get to the hallway by his room. His slow gait made it clear he was in pain.

Chell was slightly impressed Wheatley could read, considering how stupid he used to be, reading Machiavelli upside down.

But things do change don't they?

While following him Chell looked into the kitchen. Teal tiled floors and pink rose wallpaper. He seemed to like flowers, Chell remembered admiring his garden at one point.

He had planted azaleas, morning glories, and these gorgeous clovers that had flowers.

"This way-" he said, before suddenly shutting his mouth.

He'd led her before. And look how that ended up. He remembered running away from GLaDOS... 'This way.' He'd said.

He pushed the memory out of his mind.

"My room is over here." He rephrased. He pointed.

Chell went into his room and found, much like the rest of the house, it was cute and homey.

The lavender room had many stuffed animals, Chell was sort of surprised. He selected one from off his bed, a Blue tiger.

"Okay. I'm good." He said, holding it in his arms. "Actually- wait-" he went over to his dresser. He pulled out a pink nightgown. It was obviously meant for a woman but Chell supposed it didn't hurt for him to wear it.

"And I haven't fed my crab-" he said, huffing. His stomach made a loud churning sound and he doubled over, holding it. "Oughhh..." he moaned.

"What do you feed it?" Chell said eyeing the crab and it's decorated tank. Wheatley had wrapped lace around the edges of the tank.

Chell was starting to sense a pattern. Wheatley seemed to like soft things. Things that brought him comfort. Maybe he wasn't a monster after all?

What kind of monster had kittens and lace all over his house?

But that didn't mean she forgave him. He'd done something absolutely abhorrent. Chell was sure if he was given power again he'd do it again.

"Fish- it's in the refrigerator- I've got to go get it-" he said, still hunched over.

"Maybe I should-" Chell began. He didn't look so good.

"No- you've already done enough-" he panted. "Thank you- but I've got to take some responsibility."

Wheatley walked slowly to the kitchen, Chell followed silently.

He made it to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He stared at the food for a moment. He found himself reaching for a slice of cake rather than the fish.

Chell watched silently from the living room.

He took the cake and grabbed a fork quickly, and began to eat it.

"Wheatley!" Chell folded her arms, stepping into view. She tapped her foot.

Wheatley stopped. He chuckled nervously. "S-sorry just wanted a little more." He sighed. "I'm still rather-" he huffed, trying to keep tears back. "-upset, to be honest..."

Chell shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You can't be left alone."

Wheatley quickly finished the peice of cake before Chell had a chance to stop him. He couldn't help himself.

She sighed, glaring at him.

"Okay, let me get the fish, you go wait by the door. Okay?"

Wheatley nodded guiltily. "Sorry."

Chell got the chopped up bits of fish and brought it to the crabs tank. She fed the little crab, who happily ate the fish.

She was surprised the barely functioning man could even take care of a crab. Even if it was small and easily taken care of, Wheatley wasn't known to figure out things.

GLaDOS informed her, before she left, that all Wheatley had to do to fix the reactor was press any key. He hadn't even been able to figure that out.

Chell returned to the front and found Wheatley with his nightgown around one arm, and the other hand massaging his overfilled stomach.

"Come on buddy." Chell reached for his shoulder, but he winced. She saw terror in his eyes, like he expected her to punish him.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." She said, eyes softening.

"Oh." Wheatley frowned. "Sorry."

Wheatley sure apologized a lot. It wasn't like him. Or the him she remembered.

The duo left the house and returned to Chell's home, albeit slowly. He regretted that extra slice of cake.

His stomach was turning upside down and he felt absolutely awful.

Chell led him to the guest room, and began deciding what to do about what she had seen.

Chell was the doctors apprentice and had been working in medicine for the 4 years she'd been free. She was debating wether or not to call Mayamintes about it.

Wheatley began changing into his night gown. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, that's when Chell saw the scars.

Way worse than hers, a massive scar that snaked up his back, small scars around it, bullet grazings, all kinds of them. His back was nearly covered in them.

"Wheatley..." She frowned. "What did she do to you?"

Wheatley turned around and Chell saw more scars. "She cut me up. While I w-was still awake. My old bodies had them worse. I'm lucky."

"Jesus. I'm- I'm sorry."

His arm had a a cut around the base of his shoulder, the marks where his stitches were still visible.

Had she cut off his arm?

He slipped the night gown over his head and sighed. "Much better. That old shirt was so tight." He absent mindedly rubbed at his stomach.

"Are you sure I can't just go back home? I've been fine on my own I just- I just wanted to be out of your hair... so to speak."

Chell sighed. "You tried to kill yourself. I saw you. I'm sorry I punched you and made you feel awful but you really hurt me. You really really did."

Wheatley bowed his head. "I know." He sighed. "That's what my nightmares are always about."

He sat down on the bed, arms in his lap. "C- can I talk to you about the one I had a few days ago? It was the scariest one yet and it's why I was so scared to tell you who I was." He said.

Chell looked at the clock, 1 am... "Dont you have work tomorrow?"

Wheatley yawned. "Yeah..." he stretched. "Perhaps it is a little late...I'm rather sleepy..."

"Go to sleep... if you need me I'll be in my room." Chell said, backing out of the room. She turned off the light and Wheatley yelped.

"Please! Leave it on- I'm- I'm afraid of the dark." Wheatley's eyes were wide and afraid.

Chell turned the switch back on. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's fine- I just- she used to lock me up in the dark- for weeks- I went mad and- and-" he shook his head, trying to clear the memories before he started crying. But he was too late.

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry- just let me cry- I'm sorry-" he said through tears. "I couldn't stop myself-" he wrapped his arms around himself. It reminded Chell of the baby orangutan that had lost its mother and hugged itself to make itself feel safe. That documentary had made her very sad.

"Hey." Chell walked back in and put her hands on his shoulders. "You're ok. You're safe now and nothing's going to hurt you."

Wheatley gasped for air, crying like a child. "P-promise?"

Chell nodded. "I promise."

Wheatley sighed and nodded, wiping away his tears. He took off his glasses and set them on the night stand, and then untied his bows.

His hair was curly and long, and Chell thought it was beautiful. Pastel orange and whitish peach melded together in the man's hair, it was gorgeous.

It looked dyed, but from his pale skin... was it just a lack of pigment?

He crawled into the bed, clutching his stuffed animal.

He was like a child. He really was and that worried Chell. He wasn't smart enough to live on his own, was he?

He obviously wasn't taking care of himself, eating like that. Crying on the porch for hours- and god knows what else.

Yes, she was still angry with him but she didn't wish death on him.

"Goodnight Wheatley."

Wheatley yawned. "Goodnight... Chell..."


	16. Compassion

Chell couldn't sleep. She kept hearing Wheatley make awful noises, first cries, moans, and now it sounded like somebody was beating him.

But every time she checked, he was fast asleep.

Chell sat up in bed. Again she heard him cry. She decided to grab a chair and watch him.

Even if it was a little creepy Chell had watched suicidal people before, at the last inpatient mental hospital she'd worked at.

She took a chair and walked to the room. She opened the door quietly and brought the chair inside.

She sat by the door, silent.

It only took a few minutes before he started up again, tossing and turning, howling and crying.

"Don't-! Don't hurt her-!" He slurred.

Chell was perplexed. Who was he talking about?

"She's.. my.. only friend.."

Wheatley started kicking again. Shaking his head. "No... mmph-"

Tears ran down his cheeks as he suffered in his sleep.

Chell walked to the bedside. She gently rubbed the side of his face. He curled into her touch. She rubbed down his arm, and kept on. It was a trick she used to use on kids.

"Shhh... shhh... you're safe, little one." She whispered.

He seemed to calm down, his legs relaxing. She saw his tears begin to slow, as he cuddled closer to his tiger.

"... safe..."

Chell thought she knew who he was dreaming about.

Chell decided she wasn't going to leave the room for the rest of the night.


	17. Not What They Seem

The next morning Chell watched Wheatley get out of the house and go to work. Following beside him.

He seemed sad and that scared her. She didn't wish death on anyone. Even him.

What if he tried to do it at work? What if- What if she lost him?

She let go of him in space, would she let him go again? He had been the closest thing to a friend she had.

Wheatley had rebraided his hair and pulled it up into a sort of braid-bun. Chell was ashamed to admit it, but she found him quite attractive.

Maybe he could take care of himself.

But not alone. Especially after what she saw last night. Chell separated from him after they made it to the library.

"Have a good day, Wheatley." Chell said, waving.

"Ah- yes- toodles!" Wheatley waved before entering the library.

Chell sighed. She knew exactly where she was going.

She had to talk to Mayamintes. Onwards to Town Hall.

The walk was uneventful, but Chell's determination raged like fire behind her eyes .

Entering town hall, she found Mayamintes at their desk doing paperwork.

The ceiling was held up by doric columns, 16 of them leading to the back where Mayamintes was working.

"Mayamintes, I need to talk to you." Chell said, almost nervously.

"Hello Chell! What can I do ya for?" Mayamintes smiled widely.

"It's about Wheatley." Chell said, rubbing her arm. "Can we go somewhere private?"

Maya's expression changed to worry, and they nodded.

Mayamintes brought them into their office, closing the door behind them.

"Alright. What's happened?" they folded their arms.

"Last night, he and I had a... a fight over our past. I knew him a long time ago. He became incredibly upset- and he- he tried to kill himself." She sighed. "I stopped him."

"Again, huh?" they shook their head.

"Again?"

"He's done this many times before. He never tells anybody why he wants to, can't even get him to talk to the therapist. He doesn't trust anyone. He's been spiraling down for a long time." Mayamintes sighed. "It's only a matter of time."

"I know why." Chell said.

"You do? How? He doesn't talk to anyone-"

"I used to know him- he and I had a past- a not good one-"

"Do you know how he got those scars? When he first came here I got a look. Some were still scabbed over, but i hope by now they've faded a little."

Chell sighed. "He was violently abused."

Mayamintes grabbed a file and wrote down what she said. "Keep going. What did he tell you?"

"I think he hates himself for what he did... and I don't think he's going to forgive himself." Chell shook her head. "He has nightmares- and I think they are about me. He said he had a nightmare that made him too afraid to tell me who he was."

"Didn't you recognize him?" Maya asked.

"It's been a long time. He's changed. A lot." Chell partially lied.

"What did he do?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. All I can tell you is that he hurt me. Badly enough to make me have nightmares about him... flashbacks... scars."

"That doesn't sound like Wheatley."

"Because somebody destroyed him. That isn't the same Wheatley I knew. He used to be so- happy- he was so goofy- and now- god." She shook her head again. "He's not my Wheatley anymore."

Mayamintes nodded, still writing.

"Do you know why he doesn't trust anyone? And why did he trust you?"

"I don't know. Whatever GLaDOS did to him..." Chell realized she'd said too much.

Mayamintes froze. "GL-GLaDOS? From Aperture?"

Mayamintes knew GLaDOS. The florist's great grandmother had told the entire town the stories of Aperture. Many others before had escaped and told stories of how their friends and coworkers were killed by the massive AI.

Chell nodded.

"No wonder he's terrified." Mayamintes shut the file. "That thing- killed so many. How did he survive?"

"I don't know."

Mayamintes sighed. "I need you to do me a favor. Keep an eye on him. If he trusts you we can use it."

"But-"

"Listen. I don't want him to die. I think he's misunderstood and a gentle soul. We've all got wounds, and I think you've got them too. Maybe you two can work through your traumas together." Mayamintes put a hand on Chell's shoulder.

"I don't know what he did, but please. Consider. He's not whatever monster he used to be. People change."

"How would you know?"

Mayamintes sighed. "Have you heard about the black war?"

Chell had. It was one of the bloodiest wars ever, over 15 million died. Just on their side.

"Yes. I remember."

"Well I used to be a general. At the end, we brokered a deal, to end the war. The only thing was that the Viks, they were a barbaric people, and wanted blood. In order to end the war we had to send 1000 men without weapons for them to slaughter."

"I sent my men to die. I told them that they were heroes. I can never take back what I've done." Mayamintes stood straight. "What did he do?"

Chell silenced.

"I have nightmares of the faces of my men, men who had wives, children, families. I took that from them. We ended that war, but at what cost?"

"I geuss... I could try to forgive him." She said, sighing. "He only betrayed me once."

"Keep an eye on him. You have my permission." Mayamintes said. "Find out what's been eating him up."


End file.
